It’s roughly 90 degrees with 90% humidity, the sort of Midwestern summer day that turns the cornfields into a jungle. I’ve just climbed up and down nearly 1,000 stairs at a local park, and yet, I’m barely sweating. I wish I could tell you that I’m just in great shape, that I don’t have a bum knee, that I am a person who glistens rather than drips. But in fact, I’m cheating. I’m wearing a pair of robo pants that are erasing half the effort. Called MO/GO (short for mountain goat), it may very well...